


Is You Is or Is You Ain’t My Baby

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Series: Celluloid Hero [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Hollywood, Pointing My Gun at You Means I Love You, The Right Partner, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 09:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15167867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: “The pictures, the USO tour, the actresses and actors—they weren’t real, you know? It was a temporary fantasy. Trust me, Peggy, there is no competition. I’m not looking at anyone else.”





	Is You Is or Is You Ain’t My Baby

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second follow-up story in the Celluloid Hero series, about people's reactions to Steve's film stardom referenced in Captain America: The First Avenger.
> 
> Happy 100th birthday, Steve Rogers.

Steve watched Peggy stride through Howard’s laboratory, trying his damnedest to keep his eyes off the sway of her hips, the way her shiny brown hair bounced against her perfect neck. Her irritation with him was as loud as those gunshots and it echoed through the room; he was acutely aware of the entire lab staff’s eyes trained on him as he followed her like a puppy. Behind him, Howard muttered, “Your funeral, pal.”

“What if those bullets had penetrated the shield?” Steve demanded, because it was better to be on the offensive. He sounded petulant, he knew, but he was, well, hurt—she’d _shot_ him, for Christ’s sake. Shot _at_ him, anyway. She went through a door and he darted in behind her, closing it with his foot. 

Peggy gave a minute shake of her head—he could practically see her eyes rolling—before turning around and favoring him with a withering stare. “You shouldn’t be in here, Captain.”

Oh, so she was going to keep that up. Steve met her dyspeptic scowl with one of his own. “Pretty sure they’d grant me clearance for any part of this facility.” But inwardly he cringed at how damn smug he sounded. This wasn’t at all how he’d wanted this to go.

Steve had imagined returning to London, receiving his first command, spending the days prepping for missions and spending time with Bucky, taking Peggy out at night...and now he’d messed all that up, somehow. How was he bumbling this so badly that she had shot at him? It wasn’t as though he’d asked Private Lorraine to kiss him.

This might have gone better if a Hollywood scriptwriter had done it. He’d certainly have more clever lines.

Peggy pointed a finger angrily toward the sign on the wall: “Intelligence Officers Only.” Like somehow that would cow him. If Peggy wanted to make this a staring contest, Steve was determined that for once he would win. Someone passed between him and Peggy carrying a bunch of file folders, looking at them as though they were insane, and he supposed maybe they were; Bette had said something like that to him once, that love made people lose their minds. “This is childish,” Peggy said, without breaking their impasse. 

“As childish as shooting at me in a fit of jealousy?”

“It wasn’t jealousy!” But for once, Peggy’s façade cracked before his did and her cheeks colored, eyes flashing with anger. “It was annoyance. There’s a difference.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she added, “I’d been under the apparently mistaken impression you were different to most men. It’s a disappointment to find you aren’t.” She spun around, heading for the file room. Howard called this area the Spy Pen—now that he’d barged in, everyone was watching him suspiciously and he was beginning to realize that even Captain America really wasn’t supposed to be back here. Not to mention that Peggy was trying to get away from him, and he was goading her. Not a good look for anyone, let alone someone who was supposed to represent the country’s best. An even worse look than suggesting she was fonduing with Howard.

Peggy drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. The white of her blouse made the color on her cheeks look so vivid, her lipstick so bright. He had to fix this. When Peggy opened her eyes, she scowled. “What?” she asked, and Steve jerked his head in the direction of a closet. Cupboard, they called them over here. Her gaze swept toward it and her mouth tightened in a line, but she followed him in. It seemed to be some sort of electrical room or something, there were lights and cables and buttons covering two of the walls, making for a terribly tight squeeze. It was also hot as hell—or maybe that was just being in her presence.

“I’m sorry. For everything I said, and for following you into a restricted area and making you look bad.” He tugged his jacket down and smoothed his hair, trying to appear as contrite as possible. “But for the record, someone else could have been hurt, if not me.”

Peggy scanned his face and shook her head. “I knew about the shield,” she said. “Don’t give yourself so much credit, Captain, as to think that I’d fire at someone undefended.” But there was a saucy quality to her words that hadn’t been there before. Was Peggy calculatedly provoking him? The thought of it gave Steve a distinctly uncomfortable feeling below the waist.

“I don’t understand why you were firing on me at all.” Steve tried on a conciliatory smile. “And stop calling me captain.”

“You really are the most maddening man.” The pulse in her throat had sped up, he watched the little beat-beat-beat under her smooth skin with interest. 

“I _know_. I’ve heard that my entire life.” Steve ran his fingers under his suddenly damp collar.

Peggy tried to fight a smile at that. “I don’t know how Barnes does it, really. This is horribly stifling here. Might we have this conversation later, at a more pleasant location? I’ll come unarmed.”

“Nope,” he said, moving closer, arching a brow. “Not till you admit you were jealous.”

“I wasn’t—” Peggy stopped herself, very put-upon, her eyes sparking. “Yes, all right. Fine. I was annoyed. I’d thought we had a connection, back in the States. In our letters, and in the pub last night.” She wasn’t looking at his eyes, instead her gaze was fixed on his mouth. There was a faint sheen of sweat at her hairline, too. 

“It _really_ didn’t mean anything. She grabbed me by the tie and hauled me over and kissed me and I just—well, reacted. Like any fella would, I suppose.”

Peggy rolled her eyes even more loudly than before. “You mean like this?” she said, and grabbed his tie, pulling his head down and Steve found himself a bit dizzy. It was almost as though he’d never kissed Barbara or Ida or Hedy—he felt like a teenager again, all awkward angles and wobbly legs. Her mouth was soft and lush, and he could taste her lipstick; just before she drew back, Peggy bit his lower lip—not hard enough to draw blood, but almost. Steve thought he might swoon.

“Yes. Uh. Sort of—sort of like that.” Steve cleared his throat. He’d gone from the offensive position to defensive all of a sudden and he was clearly outgunned. 

A soft, wistful look came over her, and she sighed. “We saw your films, you know. And we do get newspapers and magazines from America over here.”

“Yeah?” Steve wasn’t certain what she was trying to say. “Wait—is this about the Betty Carver thing? Because I had nothing to do with that. It was all Senator Brandt’s people and the comic book writers.”

An exasperated noise flew from her throat. “As horrid as that is, no.” She glanced to the side. “How am I to compete with all your—your sultry screen sirens and fawning fans? We were bombarded with your Hollywood exploits, the news of who you were being seen with around town. And then to catch you kissing the private...well.” She threw her hands up in the air. “I didn’t think I’d mistaken your—responses to me, but I had to wonder.”

“Sultry screen sirens?” Steve burst out laughing. Oh, that was a mistake. Peggy’s glare could scrape paint. “You’ve got it all wrong. Ida was a friend, my co-star. She’s a happily married lady. And Hedy is—well, she’s wonderful and smart and yes, we were together for a little while, but it wasn’t serious. Part of why I liked her was because she reminded me of you.”

That didn’t seem to placate her, judging by her narrowed eyes, but at least she didn’t look like she was planning to skin him alive anymore. “I believe you’re forgetting a few.” The corner of her mouth twitched up in a half smile.

“No, I’m not, honest. Patsy really is a friend from my neighborhood. She was the first girl who’d ever liked me, but I sort of wrecked any hope of dating her in school by being my maddening self.” He gave her his best bashful grin, and it seemed to work. “Peggy. _Peggy_ , I swear. Most of what you heard was made up by the awful gossip columnists.” Maybe that wouldn’t assuage her concern, but she knew him well enough to know what a lousy liar he was.

“Steve.” Her saying his name emboldened him enough to put his hands on her hips. Peggy seemed to soften a bit, almost leaning into him, straightening his tie, so he dipped his head to kiss her again. 

When he pulled back, he blinked a few times. “What—what were we talking about?” Oh right—sultry screen sirens and fawning fans. It almost made him laugh again, but he bit the inside of his cheek to stop it so she wouldn’t slap him. He might have the serum, but Steve still didn’t want to meet that right hook of hers.

“I’m not an idiot. You’re a handsome, eligible young man, surrounded by beautiful women for months even before you went to Hollywood. Wherever you go now, beautiful women will hurl themselves at you. Women whose entire job is simply to be beautiful.” She shrugged, opened her hands wide. 

“I wasn’t sure I’d even see you again. I read your letters over and over, dreamed about you, but someone would always interrupt with rehearsals or interviews or call sheets.”

“Sounds like a dreadful way to be awakened,” Peggy said with dry amusement.

“Never said I was awakened—just interrupted. Pretty sure I’m still dreaming.” Wow—somehow he’d stumbled on exactly the right thing to say. He stared into her soft brown eyes, holding her gaze. “The pictures, the USO tour, the actresses and actors—they weren’t real, you know? It was a temporary fantasy. Trust me, Peggy, there is no competition. I’m not looking at anyone else.” He flashed a grin. “Let’s say...let’s say I’d come over here with you. I was here all along and we were going together. What do you think we’d be doing now—not kissing in a closet, right?” Steve slipped his arms around her, nuzzling into her hair, and she swatted his shoulder—but he wasn’t deterred so easily.

“I suppose not. We’d be—ooohh,” Peggy moaned as his mouth hit some perfect spot—he had to remember where for future reference—and he chuckled against her neck. “Dancing—we’d dance, wouldn’t we, and go out on an evening, and maybe you’d stay the night on occasion. If you behaved.” Peggy had been engaged, she’d told him that back in Brooklyn. Though she’d never actually said if she’d spent the night with her fiancé, some of the things she’d said made him think she had. Though he would absolutely avoid bringing that up—she was right, he still didn’t know a bloody thing about women, but he was learning and now that they’d stopped yelling at each other, he wouldn’t risk losing this.

“That sounds wonderful.” Steve would make Bucky teach him to dance; it was long past time he learned. “I _can_ behave.” He pulled his mouth away from her neck.

“That remains to be seen.” She pursed her lovely lips. “Except...well, there’s Barnes, isn’t there.”

His heart stuttered and his blood went cold. “I don’t know what you mean.” If she was annoyed enough by Private Lorraine to shoot at him, what could she do about his relationship with Bucky?

“Oh, good god,” Peggy snapped, and his hopeful mood disappeared. “Do you take me for a fool? I’m a spy, Steve, observation is one of my most vital skills. I know there’s more between you two. Stop pretending,” she scolded, as if he was a kid—and that was making him even more aroused than the nuzzling. He’d felt that way when Hedy scolded him, too. He supposed his reaction was something to think about. As if she could tell what was going through his mind, she huffed. “I’m not threatening you. Someday, perhaps, I’ll tell you about my brother. I understand more than you think.”

Oh. Steve had been surprised at the acceptance he’d found among show business people, but he hadn’t presumed to find it outside of that world. He should have given Peggy more credit. “Getting him back brought up a lot of things for us, I guess. I always thought, I don’t know”—and he recalled Hedy’s comment about boys she’d known in the theatre, and the way Cary and Randy lived their lives—“I guess I always thought I had room in my heart for more than just one person.”

It was obviously the right thing to say because she yanked on his tie again and kissed him, very intensely this time, leaving him breathless and dazed. “I believe I understand. So may we please get out of here and resume this conversation later?” Peggy whispered into his ear, making him shiver.

“Um. You go first. I need a minute.” The feeling of her bosom pressed against his chest, of her hot breath on his skin, had rendered him unfit for being in public.

Peggy smirked, opening the door and peering out. “The coast is clear. Come to my rooms tonight, won’t you? Say, half eight?” He nodded. This entire morning had been like riding the Cyclone and he wasn’t sure if he was going up or plummeting down. 

Also, he couldn’t remember if half eight meant seven thirty or eight thirty. “Wait,” Steve said as he caught her wrist. “Is that 1930 or 2030?”

Peggy slipped out the door, shaking her head, eyes toward the ceiling. “Let’s say eight, then.”

“Let’s,” Steve agreed, and he knew what a dope he looked like, grinning at her stupidly as she walked away. 

He spent a few more minutes in the closet trying to get himself under control, and then went back to Howard’s lab. Bucky was due to come in to consult about weapons and a possible uniform for himself, and that would be a good way for Steve to get his mind off of Peggy. 

The rest of the day was a struggle to keep focused; his mind kept wandering back to the curve of Peggy’s hips under his hands, the scent of her perfume, the silky texture of her hair. Twice Howard had to repeat what he’d been telling Steve, especially the features of the motorcycle he was outfitting for field use.

It took Steve a while to find the house where she was rooming, tucked away on a cute little half-circle street and garden near the Russell Square station. “My flatmates are out for the night,” she said, bringing him in out of the bitterly cold rain to the warm little apartment on the second floor. Steve had lugged a number of ridiculous things from the States overseas with him, so he handed her a bottle of wine Cary had sworn was an excellent vintage that would be very hard to come by these days. “Oh, smashing,” Peggy said when she looked at the label.

“I heard things like this were getting pretty dear, at least for average folk,” Steve said. “Before I left, I asked around about what I could bring over that people might appreciate.” Depending on how things went tonight, his next gift could be the nylon stockings the girls had helped him procure.

“This will go perfectly with dinner.” Peggy motioned toward the little kitchen. “I’m afraid it’s not quite what you were used to in Los Angeles, even with the SSR's slightly more forgiving ration books.” He’d expected her to get a few more digs in about Hollywood, so he gave her a tolerant smile.

Dinner was lovely, of course, every bit of it: the food, the wine, the company, and Steve finally relaxed, feeling more confident that there _would_ be more than a few kisses in a closet in their future. Maybe even their immediate future, judging by the provocative way she was looking at him. 

They cleaned up and he helped her wash dishes—Steve had always rather enjoyed doing the dishes back home, standing quietly at the sink and handing them to Bucky to dry, listening to the radio, and he found it remarkably pleasant to experience Peggy’s company in the same way. When they were done, she said, “I have this lovely brandy I’ve been saving for a special occasion. Have a seat.” She motioned to the settee and he watched as she gracefully moved around getting glasses and pouring. Steve had never drunk brandy before but he followed her lead, waiting for it to warm in the glass before sipping. It was perfect, of course. 

“You’re not the only one with gifts,” she said, tucking her legs up on the seat and leaning into him. “Forgive me, I’m a little tipsy from the wine,” and she reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a small piece of newspaper. “I thought you might keep it with you, in your billfold or kit or something. Now that we’ve...cemented our interests.”

Steve laughed as he unfolded the newsprint to find a photograph of Peggy. “I’m afraid it’s the only photo I have right now. It was from the local paper to announce my joining the service—of course, I was listed as a stenographer. I couldn’t explain to Mum why I found that so incredibly funny.” 

“It’s lovely. Maybe one of these days we can get our hands on a copy of the original.” He got up, reached in the pocket of his jacket hanging on a dining chair. “I have just the place for it,” he confirmed and held up his compass.

“How clever.” They stared at each other for a stupidly long time as they finished off their brandy. When Steve had realized that Hedy liked him as much as he liked her, it had made his head swim. After all those years when no one had bothered to look twice in his direction—except Patsy and Bucky—and he could never get a second date with the same girl, to be desired by someone he desired was a powerful experience. And he believed now for certain that Peggy wanted him as much as he did her.

“Are your friends—when are your roommates due home?” He attempted to sound as if he was only casually interested, but she laughed at him. Once again, she grabbed his tie and tugged, as she got up off the settee and headed in the direction of what he assumed was a bedroom. Space was at such a premium in town that he wasn’t surprised to see two beds shoved into the small room, but she wouldn’t have led him in here if she wasn’t confident they’d remain undisturbed.

He let Peggy whip his tie away; it snapped against him pleasantly. Steve kissed her in between her little huffs as she undid each button of his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders, tugging the tails out of his trousers. He’d been on the stage, he could take direction: Steve took the shirt off all the way and threw it on the floor, then slipped his undershirt over his head. 

Her brows rose up, her lips curled in a vulpine smile. “Yes, just as I remembered.” When she reached out to touch his pectoral muscle, they both burst into laughter. Peggy could hardly keep herself upright, she was laughing so hard, so Steve pulled her into his arms and they fell on the bed together. 

None of the past mattered anymore, the road show or Hollywood or the gossip columns. Everything Steve had wanted he had now, on the field and here in this city, laughing with him and kissing him. He’d taken a long, strange route to get here, but he’d finally found the right partner.

**Author's Note:**

> Louis Jordan's original recording of the title's song was made before this story would have taken place, but it wasn't released till early 1944. It also put (Ma' Baby) in parentheses, but it's rarely listed that way anymore after years of covers, so I went with the blander version. 
> 
> Thanks to minim calibre for beta.
> 
> On [tumblr](http://teatotally.tumblr.com/post/175552285735/new-fic-for-steves-100th-birthday).


End file.
